


He Finds Him Home in...

by LuckyBossuet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Grantaire really loves Enjolras okay, Grantaire-centric, M/M, POV Grantaire (Les Misérables), Stream of Consciousness, Train of Thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyBossuet/pseuds/LuckyBossuet
Summary: Grantaire thinks on what home is to him, or rather, who.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37
Collections: Enjoltaire Games 2020





	He Finds Him Home in...

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for the enjoltairegames2020! I was team Grantaire so this is a Grantaire central fic! All the fics are around the idea of "Home"

This was the prompt I was given:

* * *

Grantaire believes in little, but he believes in home.

Not in the home he grew up in, with the arguments and the screaming.

He remembers being a child, not understanding what his mother and father meant when they screamed in his face. Why they said he was bad when all he did was look at his friends, or why he was told to stop when he drew instead of doing his homework when the numbers hurt his head.

Not in the homes he shifted between with various friends and ‘friends’.

Some were better than others, Jehan and Joly and Boss all made him feel welcome, but in between using websites to find people to help him make rent never ended brilliantly. He never really made friends with them at best, being evicted over damages at worst. Living on his own was worse, on days when it was hard to leave bed he ended up there for days instead of one or two, the loneliness not helping his already darkly clouded mind. No, Grantaire functions better with a roommate, that is plain to see. 

He feels at home at places that aren’t his, on Jehan’s brightly cushioned sofa, on Joly and Bossuet’s carpeted floor, at the gym with Bahorel before they find the stray cats that accept the affection they give.

He’s always found his home in others, he knows this, knows that people make him feel better than places do. So he finds people, he finds a few people and they sent him to others and gave him a place.

He thinks on the recent years as he cleans up his desk, the paints and crayons scattered all over. 

The kids in his class drew their families, stick figures almost all in front of whatever building they call home, houses and apartment buildings.

But even when there was one building, or two buildings, or even three, the people were always the focus.

And maybe, he thinks, that’s the thing.

Eloise doesn’t count her house as home, she counts where she lives with her parents home. Little Michel doesn’t call his flat home because that’s where his toys are, it’s home because his grandma and his sister and his brother live there. Lola has 2 homes because her dad lives in one place and her mum and step-mother live in another. Their homes aren’t places, they’re the people in them. Even Alli, the teacher from across the hall doesn’t call Spain home anymore, because all the people xe loves are in France.

Pulling his bag onto his shoulders, rubbing absentmindedly at the acrylic paint that isn’t going to come off now if it hasn’t come off in the 5 years since he received it, he heads towards home.

He sees a couple on the street, shyly looking at each other when the other looks away.

He sees a child being carried on her father’s shoulders, squealing at the height she gains.

He thinks about his home.

Not the door with the crooked numbers that Jehan can’t get out of the habit of straightening when they visit. Not of the paint that covers up marks from the sofa slamming into it when he moved in. Not even of the office space with the easel and paints, and the desk and computer where work is done, or the bedroom where they rest. 

No, home to him means the man who gave him a key to that door. The man who sighed at the mark, who works at the computer, who shares the bed with him.

Home isn’t a place to Grantaire.

Home is in the arms that wrap around his waist. 

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Stayyyy.”_

_“You have work too ya’know.”_

_“Coffee?”_

_“Only if you let go of me.”_

_“... Fine.”_

Home is in the looks he gets when they’re relaxed.

_“You’re beautiful you know?”_

_“Ha, says you.”_

_“I do say so, I could look at you all day.”_

_“Hmm-”_

_“I could also do that all day.”_

Home is in the nudges and whispers that bring him out of the dark and keep him company when he’s too deep into it.

_“I know I can’t pull you out, but I’m here if that helps.”_

_“It does, a little.”_

_“Is there anything else I can do?”_

_“No, just- Stay?”_

_“Always.”_

Home is in the kisses and the small moments where they don’t say anything.

_Blonde hair falls on his shoulder, followed by the head it’s attached to._

_He wraps an arm around a set of shoulders._

_They don’t need to speak._

Grantaire unlocks the door and sees his home sat at the table, typing on his computer.

Enjolras looks up when Grantaire closes the door, smiling, and cranes his neck for a kiss. Grantaire places a hand on Enjolras’ neck and complies. They smile into each other’s lips.

“Coffee?” Enjolras offers, laughing at the desperate relief on Grantarie’s face at the offer.

“Please.”

Coffee drunk, they sit for a while, hands entwined, as they talk and ask and smile and laugh.

They don’t need all that, though. They could spend a day in silence and not miss the sound, as long as the other is there.

Home isn’t a place to Grantaire. It never has been, not really.

He doesn’t find his home in the house they share, even if it is filled with all of their things and a lot of their memories.

He finds his home in the bare hands attached to braceleted wrists in his tattooed ones, the ones that bring him coffee and hold him close.

He finds his home in the lips that tell him words of love and kiss his own.

He finds his home in the man he loves and hopes he gives him a home in return with every breath.

He finds his home in good-natured arguments evolved after years of learning how to know each other with hurting.

He finds home in the person he chose, and who chooses him.

He finds home in a person.

He finds his home in love.


End file.
